The Mountain Burns

I looked out my window this morning to see this:

I'm not a good enough photographer to capture the size of the smoke plume as it has traveled from Saratoga Springs, over my house and to the eastern mountains; or to capture the shadow it has cast over the valley.

The air is thick, the wind is blowing, and the light is dimmed...

It feels a bit like The Lord of the Rings.

Galadriel:  In the land of Mordor, in the fires of Mount Doom, the Dark Lord Sauron forged in secret, a master ring, to control all others. And into this ring he poured all his cruelty, his malice and his will to dominate all life. One ring to rule them all.

Boromir: One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep, and the Great Eye is ever watchful. It is a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust, the very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this. It is folly. 

Saruman: Together, my lord Sauron, we shall rule this Middle-earth. The old world will burn in the fires of industry. Forests will fall. A new order will rise. We will drive the machine of war with the sword and the spear and the iron fist...

Even the birds are acting weird. This black one hovered and followed and watched Ethan and I as we tried to get a better look at the fires burning.

A very eerie morning here.